


Always Something

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, John Watson is dancing, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Stripper pole, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are undercover, except Sherlock has missed a very vital fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Something

8 p.m., 221B Baker Street.

“SHERLOCK! I’ve had to cancel on Jessica for the third time this week. She’s told me to go take a dive!” John was livid. Sherlock found it amusing and endeavored to hide his grin. John was pacing in front of the window, muttering under his breath. Excellent.  
“We are after a gay man, early forties, named Donald Richards who is stealing purebred Lowchen. My network says that he will be at the club tonight and only tonight. Therefore, Janet will have to wait.”  
“Jessica!” John threw his hands up and abandoned his post to make a cup of tea. 

“John?” Sherlock said, getting up from the microscope. “You’ll want to wear this.” He plucked a stack of fabric up from the counter and handed it to the glaring man. “We leave in an hour. I’m going to go get ready. Shoes outside your door.” Sherlock left the room as John swore softly.  
“What club are we going to anyway?” He yelled after the detective’s retreating figure, receiving no answer. 

 

——— 1 Hour Later————  
“You can’t be serious.” John said as Sherlock made his way to the door. John was dressed in tight black trousers and shirt, blue blazer thrown over the whole lot. He was currently kneeling and tying the laces of the shiny black boots Sherlock had left outside his bedroom door.  
“You are playing a part John. I am also playing a part.” Sherlock said smoothing a last coat of glittery eyeliner across his lids.  
“Besides, the clothes were in your wardrobe. Come on.” Sherlock said, opening the door and flying down the stairs to catch a taxi.  
“Sherlock!”  
 ———————————-

John was not impressed when they arrived at the club. Gritting his teeth and muttering angrily, he followed Sherlock up to the door. The bouncer took one look at the pair and pulled the rope aside to let them in, with a wink for John. Sherlock missed the curt nod John replied with, having already darted into the club. 

He stood under the flashing lights and waited for John to catch up.  
“Sherlock, I am not-“  
“Gay, yes I know. Sherlock said cutting into the protest, “I need you to cause a distraction in exactly two minutes.”  
“But you don’t-“  
“Distraction John!” Sherlock darted away in the direction of the clubs back hallway.  
“Understand.” John finished lamely, as he looked in the direction of a group of men currently waving him down.

 

Sherlock’s departure caused him to miss John being greeted warmly by a gaggle of extravagantly dressed men. He missed John being smothered in a hug by a six foot tall drag queen with a peacock headdress. He missed John gritting his teeth and getting an evil glint in his eye as he walked up to the DJ and greeted him with a kiss to both cheeks. Shrugging off his blazer and handing it to someone in the crowd with a smile. He missed John climbing up on stage and waiting with the lights dimmed, back to the crowd. 

So when Sherlock Holmes came out of the back office, he didn’t expect to hear the opening chords to Aretha Franklin’s Respect. And when turned to face the stage, in order to deduce the performer, he was entirely unprepared to see…. John. 

John was up on stage. Gyrating. Swirling around a tall silver pole as music began to play in the background. Stunned, Sherlock turned his mind away from the crowd he was deducing to watch the army doctor as he jumped up and spun around the pole, leg and arm cutting through the air, before landing artfully. Talented, despite obviously favoring his scarred shoulder. He’s done this before, Sherlock thought, moving closer to the stage and taking one of the front seats. Sherlock’s gaze followed the path of the tight black jeans as they paraded along the edge of the stage, attracting far too much attention. Sherlock noted the gazes that followed John as he danced. He’s good, Sherlock thought. He’s done this before. 

And then someone threw John a microphone. 

Sherlock stared, blinking rapidly, as John began to sing, swaying on the stage. 

What you want,  
Baby, I got it   
What you need?  
You know I got it   
All I'm askin' is  
For a little respect when you get home   
Hey baby, when you get home, mister

He was prancing now, walking back and forth across the stage. It was almost as though John was looking for someone in the crowd. Sherlock realized he had his sights on a man at the far end of the club. John slowed down when he came in front of Sherlock. Dropping to his knees and leaning forward on one arm, holding the mic in his other John sang the next lines of the song. Sherlock glanced up and caught his eyes as the words spilled from his lips. 

 All I'm askin' is  
for a little respect when you get home   
Hey baby, when you get home, listen!

John was intentionally baiting him for some reason. Curious..prolonged eye contact to pass on a message? Perhaps.

Humming, John crooked a finger at Sherlock, beckoning him closer. Sherlock came closer, as instructed. At a pause in the lyrics and John whispered, mouth away from the mic, “The man in green, far end. Dog hair on his trousers.” Then, smiling coyly, John pushed Sherlock away and rolled over onto his back, wiggling his hips. Still singing, John popped up and began to dance around another man who had clambered up on stage. Turning an eye to the man, Sherlock had his entire life story deduced in moments.  
Approximate age thirty-four. Degree in journalism, press pass hidden in shirt. Brother in the military, lapel pin. Allergies, eyes are rimmed red. Close personal contact with John, smiling, comfortable in his presence, bisexual like……  
The realization hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks. The nights John had come home with glitter on his clothes. The nights John hadn’t come home and Sherlock had deduced that the women he had slept with were dating other men, because how else would John come home with traces of ‘other’ on not-his-tie? Wearing mens socks that weren’t his?  
Bisexual like John Hamish Watson….  
Sherlock waited as the song finished and John hopped off the stage and into a group of well wishers and apparently, close friends. He pushed his way through, to stop in the middle of the crowd, where John’s performance was being lauded.  
The swarm of people hushed as he stood behind John, arms crossed as the shorter man hugged the journalist.  
“Hullo Sherlock. ” John said, turning as the journalist pointed.  
“John.” Sherlock said simply.  
“Enjoyed the show?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Picked the song for you.” He continued. “Because I would dearly like it if you stopped interrupting me as I try to impart vital information, like ‘I’m a regular here and I know these people?’Or you know maybe 'I'm not gay I'm bisexual?'"  
“I….” Sherlock’s response trailed off as John moved closer.  
“Either stop ruining my dates Sherlock, or make a move. I’m tired of waiting.”  
John looked up at Sherlock, face shiny and red from his exertions on stage.  
“Just one show of respect Sherlock, and I’m yours.”John continued, licking his lips, eyes never leaving Sherlock.  
Sherlock leaned down to whisper in John’s ear. “You were right John. It is the man in green.”  
He pulled back to see a disappointed look cross John’s face.  
“And we can go catch him, right after this.”  
Sherlock leaned back down, pulling John’s head toward his, angling so that their lips would match up perfectly. John’s hand came up to grip the back of his coat as they were shoved even closer by a remarkably tall drag queen in feathers.  
It was irritating that he had missed this little fact about John.  
There was always something.


End file.
